Don’t ever call the United States Postal Service. But if you must call them, don’t talk to Rita.

It all started a couple of weeks ago when I ordered some clothes from Amazon. I hate the mall almost as much as Republicans hate abortion, so I try to do all of my shopping from the comfort of my living room.

The only thing that hadn’t arrived a week later was a pair of shorts. Admittedly, I got drunk after shopping, so it took me a week to even realize that they were missing. My first call was to FedEx because it was a FedEx shipping number on the order.

Apparently, FedEx handled the logistics but passed the package off to USPS for the delivery. Their records indicated that they handed the package off to USPS, but it was damaged.

I called USPS and—I really mean this—the following conversation is almost exactly what happened.

Rita: “I don’t have a record of us getting the package but that’s not unusual. Our system does show that it was undeliverable because it was damaged and had an incorrect address.”

Ty: “Could I go down to the local office and pick it up?”

Rita: “No, it has to be sent back to the shipper since the package is damaged.”

Ty: “It’s a pair of shorts. I doubt anything is damaged. Could I at least take a look? I don’t have any idea how to get a hold of the shipper for a refund or replacement.”

Rita: “Since it’s damaged it must be sent back.”

Ty: “If it was so horribly damaged from the trip to Dallas, I’m trying to understand how it’s expected to survive the trip home. Really. It’s a pair of shorts.”

Rita: “Be that as it may, the local office cannot release it to you. They must send it back.”

Ty: “But it’s addressed to me. If I had reported the package missing, you would be following a separate recovery process that would have traced the package to the local office and released it to me.”

Rita: “Did you report the package missing?”

Ty: “No. It’s not missing. I know exactly where it’s at. They’re shorts! It’s a pair of shorts! I assure you, if that package is fit enough to ship back to New Jersey, they can’t be disfigured.”

Rita: “The package will have to be returned to the sender.”

Ty: “You’re wearing them, aren’t you? You’re wearing my shorts and that’s why I can’t come and get them. You seriously don’t think this is the first time I’ve had damaged goods delivered to my doorstep do you?”

Essentially, they’ve left me with a dead end next step. They’ve militantly claimed I must contact the shipper, but I have no idea who that is since I bought them from Amazon.

Therefore, I’m reaching out to my vast network of well-meaning but likely apathetic friends for help. I want a letter writing campaign to Angela Lansbury. I want phone calls to the White House. I want closure for my shorts… and for all the other shorts that—like Amelia Earhart—never made it to their final destination.